


Starve me for Jesus

by Daniel_of_Mayfair



Category: Original Work
Genre: Homophobia, Lesbian Character, Religion, Starvation, conversion therapy, corrective rape, rape is implied so far but might change later, so this is very rough, written in the middle of the night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:13:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24050383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daniel_of_Mayfair/pseuds/Daniel_of_Mayfair
Summary: My conversion therapist kidnapped me, these are some random accounts of that.Rough. Some parts are awkwardly worded, so don’t expect much.
Kudos: 5





	Starve me for Jesus

I sit, my wrist chained to the pipe behind me, rubbed raw as a by-product from... well, ‘re-education’.

I've been sitting like this for days. It’s cool and dim, but my hunger strips my senses bare so it’s cold and dark. There’s a small cellar window, the light that comes off of it hits my pale legs for an hour a day. It’s the best damn hour of the day. And it lets me know how many days have past since I have last eaten, eight days ago. I could already see my ribs peaking shyly out of my abdomen before all this started. I try my best not to look down at myself now. I just think about her, my girlfriend. I wonder if she’s still looking for me, she’s got to be, it’s only been... a few weeks? Maybe two months? Since I’ve been in this psycho-evangelist hell-hole.

I hear the door unlock, you call to your wife that you need to get something in the basement. You lock the door behind you and I instantly smell something I recognize as your wife’s, Samantha, pot roast.

My stomach growls so loud that I instinctually move to try to silence it, it’s unreasonable to think about, but I know what happens if someone were to hear me down here.

“Why, have you lost weight?” You say, impersonating a soccer mom and smirking, “You have GOT to tell me your secret.” You walk down the stairs.

I want to tell you to fuck off, I want to tell you to eat shit and die like I usually do. But that pot roast in your hands stills my quivering hatred into a sharp focus. I begin to salivate.

“Oh this?” You dropped the voice. “Yeah, Sammy made roast again,” You pick up the fork and shove a bite in your mouth, your voice slightly muffled and cheeks bulging as you spoke. “She made it again even though we had it last week but—“ the clinking of the fork is driving me mad, I curl and straighten my toes, looking down, attempting to distract myself. “—I just can’t help myself from getting thirds.”

I don’t say anything.

“But your fast is going good right? Stripping your body of its mortal needs is supposed to help you feel closer to God. Have you had any more of your immoral thoughts?”

“No.” I croak, head still down. “I really think I’m better now” I know I won’t convince you but, what am I supposed to say?

The silence is thick, I can tell you’re disappointed I’m not being my snarky self.

“Well good, maybe one day you’ll stop lying too.” You say. “As much as I’d like this to continue, you do have to eat eventually. Would you like some?”

My head shoots up. “Yes.”

“You’ll be good?” You cock an eyebrow. “Sammy is on to me because I haven’t been putting out like usual. That bite mark is still heal—“

“Yes I’ll be good.” I wish you would just shut up.

“Okay, we are going to try eating at the table again.” You set the bowl on the modest table in the middle of the room and approach me, removing the key from your pocket. “We have to let you move every few days, sitting like this is not good for your circulation.”

I want to laugh, “Why would you care about my circulation, I’m chained up in your goddamn basement.” But I don’t laugh, my voice is deadpan and scratchy and it’s not really that funny.

“I do care about you, you know?”

Shit here we go again.

“You and your eternal soul.”

You come close and lean over me to unlock the tight cuff. “I do what I do because I love you as a brother in Christ.”

Bile rises in my throat, I hate you so much.

The cuff clicks open. Your hand goes for my wrist but I quickly pull it away and rub it.

“I can get up myself.” I muttered.

“Oh? Ms. Independent here, okay then.” You stand up and back off.

I slowly pull my legs towards me and lean back on the wall for leverage and crawl my hands up. Impressed with myself as I became vertical, the room was spinning, but I still did it.

Celebrating perhaps too early with a smug look, I took a step forward to stumble and only to be caught before I would have hit the floor noisily, which would have been a disaster.

I try to shove you away but your grip on my upper arms and torso did not waiver.

“No more messing around.” you said, face pale, you also knew what making too much sound meant. “Get to the table.”

Slowly you guide me to the table, it’s bathed in sunlight, something sparkles in the bowl, and suddenly I realized.

You brought the fork with you. You goddamn idiot, you’re letting me eat with a fork today. My hunger suddenly abated, my racing heart replacing it with a rush of adrenaline and excitement.

I slowly lowered myself into the chair, you take the seat beside me.

Reaching for the fork, I tried as best as I could to not let you in on what I was thinking.

“Wait.” I hear you say. My hand stops. “Let us bless it.”

I put my head down and my hands together, peaking out of one eye. You fold your hands and close your eyes. “Dear Heavenly Father, we gather—“

I grab the fork and bury its tongs deep in your shoulder, shit, I was aiming for your neck. You roar in pain and betrayal and your hand grasps at the wound. “You fucking bitch.” You hissed.

I push myself up and stumble away. You almost seem to try to leap at me as I made my way to the other side of the table, but I flip it, the bowl shattering.

I turn around and rush to the stairs, I make it up 3 before I’m yanked back down by the modest dress you have me wear.

I’m dead, you’re going to kill me.

I’m thrown in a chokehold, your arms tighten around my neck. Your panting breath slides over the top of my head and it’s quiet again.

“Honey??” I hear your wife call out. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine sweetheart! I just tripped!” I heard you grit through your teeth.

“Okay!” I wanted to cry. Sweet Samantha, not knowing who she really lived with.

“I am going back up stairs” Your voice shook from your racing heart and hot anger. “You are going to sleep for now.”

You pull the familiar needle from your back pocket, moving your hands before quickly jabbing my neck. I tensed, but soon fell limp.

“I will be seeing you later tonight for another re-education.”


End file.
